far from home | spidey

[Sydney Lamont]

"No!" She practically shouted the word, her impulse pushing through her better judgment. Her hand landed atop his. It was not the perfect fit, like when they intertwined, but she gripped tightly to hold each other together.

"It's not like that," Syd pleaded with him as much as she did herself. Then, because she'd chosen to forever be honest with him, she added, "Not exactly."

For the past couple of years, when she began to truly notice boys, it was like joining the rest of the world for the first time. Sydney had realized that she existed in her own bubble; wrapping paper of naivety. She thought about them more than she'd profess, especially to Spencer who didn't star in her fantasies as often as his self-esteem could tolerate.

"There isn't anybody else. Anyone at all. I've only ever kissed one other boy before and I don't even think it counts and it only happened once and I didn't keep coming back." Like she did with him, which went unsaid. Yet, it wasn't that she hadn't ever wanted to. So deep was her delusion that whatever her alter-ego got into was separate that it escaped her mind the thoughts that festered under the guise of Sahara.

"I just, it's hard for me. I've never been anyone's girlfriend. I don't know how. It's scary, Spence."

[Spencer Callander]

Suddenly her hand was on his. That particular size, shape and warmth that fit so well in his. His own fingers reached to graze the tips of hers, because now that she was touching him, he was powerless to do anything but touch her right back.

"Not exactly."

But at the ambiguity of those words, his hand flinched free and he took a step back, bracing himself for a terrible admission.

What came instead wasn't quite so crushing as he was expecting, but the notion that she had kissed someone else, even only once, be it before, after or during, still hit him like a whomping willow. He passed his hand through his curls and tried to think as hard as he could about what she'd just said.

While he understood some of what she was saying—the fear, the uncertainty in the face of the unknown—he still couldn't wrap his head around why.

"You do know, though!" He insisted. "Because it's exactly what we've been doing for months now!"

[Sydney Lamont]

"Then maybe we shouldn't have!"

The words were ripped out of her in retaliation, the accusation Spencer lay at her feet finally twisting the bitterness she felt after days apart and bringing it to light. Sydney didn't want to be his girlfriend. If she had made him believe so, then it had been a selfish thing to do. This was likely selfish as well, pulling the rug of his hopes out from under him.

It didn't make sense why she felt so strongly, why she wouldn't give in. Ultimately, she believed that just because he'd thought they were didn't mean they should. That relationships wouldn't bring them closer than they already were and what they already had was not worth risking. She would stand her ground until it did make sense to her, she owed it to them both.

And, if anyone would accept her, for better or for worse, she had to believe it was him. If he didn't, then she had been wrong all along.

She held back the timidity that would normally keep her anchored as well as the impulse to cry again.

"I'm not worth this. I--" she took in a deep breath, closing her eyes before finding his once more, knowing she was risking it being the same way for a long time. "--I need some space to figure things out."

She turned to leave, barely holding it together.

[Spencer Callander]

She was right. He didn't want to admit it, because that would mean saying those past few months hadn't been everything he'd ever wanted, but she was. And really, that time had been everything he'd ever wanted, but it wasn't worth this. Spencer felt lousy, guilty, his heart torn into shreds—if this was love, then, yes, she was right, they should never have gone down this painful path. They had been perfectly fine, perfectly happy, when they were just friends.

But he still didn't want to admit it. He looked away, downwards, avoiding facing her, avoiding facing reality.

And then she said something that made his entire being churn with an indescribable horror.

"I'm not worth this. I--"

Horror, because of all the things that weren't worth it, Sydney Lamont was not one of them. He knew, deep down, regardless of all the things he did and did not admit, that for her, he would have done it all again in a heartbeat.

And, God, would it be worth it.

Spencer reached out to grab her arm, to stop her in her tracks. His eyes pleaded through their confusion. He knew he should let her go, respect her wish for space, but he clung to her like he clung to hope.

"What do you mean?" He asked. "Of course you're worth it."

[Sydney Lamont]

She gulped, frozen, held back by his hold on her and finding it impossible to face him after those words left her lips. Even then, when she had basically told him to leave her alone despite attempting to frame it in the best way possible, he wouldn't let her go. Not because he selfishly wanted to keep her there, not because his wants were more important than hers, but because Spencer wouldn't let her say such things about herself.

Even in these heart-wrenching moments, he proved to be far better than she deserved.

"Spencer," she started, gaze glued to the floor. She didn't know what to say. A small stream of tears began to flow freely as her ability to hold herself together had reached its tipping point. She shook her head, grinding her teeth until she found her voice once more.

"You're supposed to say that. You're my best friend." She felt like she'd made that point already. Whether aloud or internally, she couldn't decipher after so much time spent overthinking every action, every thought, every feeling.

"How can you really know if, if you've always felt like that?" Whether she was referring to loving her, in whatever context, she couldn't tell. She wiped her wet face clear with her forearm.

"That I'm worth it?"

[Spencer Callander]

He wanted her to look at him.

He wanted to pull her into his arms.

He wanted everything to be alright.

He knew, though his hand remained on her arm, all those things were out of reach. Unless the spin of a time turner could take them back to how things were before, then things would not be alright again. But Spencer Callander would always cling to hope, and so, with the tips of his fingers, he gave her a gentle tug. An invitation to come closer, into his arms, so that for a moment, they could find a glimpse of comfort in what they once had.

"I didn't always feel this way," He explained. "I always loved you, but not like this." It wasn't something he could easily explain, that blurry barrier between the unconditional love of a best friend, and the now conditional love of something more. If he had to draw it, he would fill paper with an explosion of bright golden light, engulfing the white page in bright, vibrant yellow. Not a depiction fated to become a masterpiece, certainly, but it would be more accurate than anything he could put into words.

"I've got other friends, you know. I can tell the difference."

These didn't feel like the right words to tell her she was everything, that he spent every waking moment thinking about her, that she'd saved his life, once, and in so doing, invited him into a life that was so much more extraordinary than it had been before, that she was at the center of it all, that there was no greater magic than that which was cast into the world by the brightness of her smile.

[Sydney Lamont]

"I know, I'm sorry."

Try as she might, she could not find anything else to say. Every second was a struggle for breath, for space. If she could be anymore torn, the kaleidoscope of a person that the Scottish lass was might have split in half. More and more, with each word she could feel press against her cheek, she was more resolute in knowing she could not risk losing him.

He was serious. He loved her. He'd come to confront her in front of everyone to do so and she'd spent most days since replaying it in her head over and over. Each time it hurt her more. Spencer had offered her his heart and she'd responded by saying it was not enough, that he wasn't, and there was no worse feeling than that.

She couldn't look at him because she felt so small. Sydney liked to dream large and spread her brand of sunshine into the world. That perspective did not dismiss the darker side of the world, not for anyone, but she wouldn't look back at her time with Spencer and think that wherever this would leave them would not have made it her favorite memories. He was her foundation, the steady gravity that kept her from drifting off the deep end and so much more.

And even then, she couldn't be his girlfriend. 

His tug had pulled her closer and, without second-guessing herself, she rested her head on his chest. The hand that had been clenching her forearm dropped to pull at the ends of his shirt. When she looked up at him then, teary blue eyes suddenly finding his, she chose to be selfish once more.

"I'm so, so sorry." The words came out broken as she leaned forward to kiss him.

Before she ran away.

[Spencer Callander]

"Me too," He said, and then again, because he was, so desperately. "I'm sorry too."

Spencer couldn't help but cling. Cling to this moment, cling to this girl. This girl who was everything, around whom his whole world had revolved from the moment she'd stepped into it. He couldn't bear to lose her, even though that was the choice he'd made, if only because the alternative was even more unbearable. Still, as she pressed into him, as her smell clouded his thoughts and ensnared his senses, his reasons why began to slip from his mind.

In that fleeting moment, he began to think that it would be okay if he accepted Sydney's terms. That he could be her not-everything as long as she remained his everything. That it was not unreasonable that she remain free and unshackled by such an exclusive designation as girlfriend.

And then she pressed her lips to his and Spencer no longer thought it, he believed it. He kissed her back as if he were promising her the world, as if that one kiss were making everything right and he would never let it end, never let her go again.

But all too soon it was over.

All too soon, she was gone, and in her place was reality, crashing down upon him.

[Sydney Lamont]

June 1964
Near the end of term

It'd been strange getting back to this point.

Sydney had tried to ease into the space they'd once had without compromising their own sticking points. So, knowing each couldn't get what they wanted while still knowing they needed each other, it'd been a coordinated dance to keep them from situations that didn't allow for their elephant in the room.

It meant public spaces, classes, Quidditch, game rooms, library. Places that didn't allow for silence to whisper, compelling them to bring up what nagged at either. It didn't work very well. Months had gone by before they found a rhythm and seemed to be fine with it; a new normal given the shift in the dynamic of a relationship spanning almost a decade.

Even knowing that made it feel crazy, how present Spencer had been in her life.

But today, she needed him. Because none of her roommates were around or would understand. She doubted anyone could, even Mr. Clint, but it wasn't lost on the perpetually clueless girl that when she ran towards the Ravenclaw Tower, her face soggy from tears, Spencer was the person she ran towards.

Fate was on her side, he wasn't even in his common room. He was alone, likely back from... well, something. She wasn't quite sure. The Hufflepuff didn't press her luck, and instead latched onto him and cried on his shoulder.

[Spencer Callander]

Spencer had begun to suspect that Tony Ackerman, his roommate for the past few years, had figured out why he had become so chummy with him, seemingly overnight. The American had never intended to use him, but Sydney's perpetual presence had turned into a regular absence, leaving a gaping void to be filled. After all, not even the best comic book could beat out good company. But a bridge was finally taking shape over that chasm and the time he'd been devoting to Tony was now being shared once again with Sydney.

Not that much—especially not at first. But twice now he'd backed out of established plans in order to reconnect with the Hufflepuff. It seemed innocent enough. After all, their limited interactions barely scratched the itch he still had when it came to Sydney Lamont. They were a far cry from the friends they had once been, and Spencer was still unsure whether he wanted anything more than those brief interactions kept safe and unsurprising around many potential witnesses.

But he hadn't missed the look on Tony's face when he'd casually mentioned something she'd said. It wasn't anything meaningful—he'd merely related something she'd said about something a house elf had said about the preparations for the end of term feast—but Spencer still couldn't figure out whether the ensuing look he'd been given was one of frustration or concern. He and Tony had barely spoken since, and Spencer vowed to himself that he would ask him just as soon as he returned to the Common Room.

And so that was why, when Sydney Lamont came to look for him, she found Spencer Callander waiting idly outside the riddling door, too chicken to step inside.

Where he might otherwise have felt relieved for an excuse to put off a tough conversation, Spencer instead welled up with dread at the sight of her tears. She almost charged into his arms and he wrapped them around her without hesitation, pressing her more closely, perhaps, than he should. He could feel her trembling against him. Without thought, his hand moved up, weaving his fingers into her hair as he gently stroked her head.

"Syd?" He craned his neck downwards to get a better look at her face. "What's wrong?"

[Sydney Lamont]

Everything was wrong.

She didn't know where to begin. In his arms, the soothing familiar feel of his fingers in her hair, Sydney started to find herself. Her own tedious hold on him had her wrenching her fingers on the sides of his shirt, keeping her from sinking.

He might not have noticed that her hair had, in those breaths, had become straighter and finer. That her body seemed to change as well, molded to what she could only categorize as shapelier and more refined. Her sobs lessened as she found the strength to control her wheezing, her inhales and exhales, until she pulled back and met his gaze.

The face that was looking back at him was not Sydney Lamont. There were similarities, somewhat. The cheeks were not as bubbly, the angles were sharper. Her eyes sparkled blue, raw as they were. She'd mastered the transformation by now, months into pretending to be someone else.

"I lied," she admitted. Syd had lied when she said she didn't think of other people. That there wasn't anyone else she thought about when she'd kissed him. That she had to develop an entirely different personality, and entirely different person, just to allow herself to believe she could be the sort of girl that could be desired, wanted. What made it worse was enjoying it, relishing in it, believing that who she truly was didn't actually compare to the person she had become.

Sydney could not admit it in the moment, as she barely managed the strength to look him in the eye.

"I was wrong. I just," And then, because she couldn't think straight, she asked, "If I decided to be someone else. Stay as someone else forever, would you still be my friend? Because, I don't think I'm okay being just silly old me. I don't like the face I see in the mirror."

She'd never said it out loud before. It'd gnawed its way to the surface after a term of realizing that it'd ultimately worked until she'd been caught in her lie. And now, she faced a crossroads.

[Spencer Callander]

Beneath his fingers, brown hair began to shift to blonde and, though some subconscious part of him might have noticed a subtle change in texture, Spencer entirely failed to notice. He was too focused on the press of her body against his, all consumed by the shiver and shake of sobs he desperately wanted to extinguish. His fingers grasped her hair and rubbed her back but never did they notice anything amiss.

Finally, Sydney's sorrow seemed to ebb and, though he might have held on a while longer, they pulled slowly apart. Then, Spencer startled. What started as a slow separation from Sydney Lamont became an abrupt one from someone else entirely.

Except entirely wasn't the right word, was it?

Recognition came a moment later, along with a remembrance of her own unique set of superpowers. He took them for granted when they were one item among many in a never-ending list of things that made Sydney special. When they weren't used to catch him off guard like this. As he gazed back into her eyes, perplexed as his usual blue met her unusual, his brow furrowed with confusion—a crease which only deepened when she finally spoke.

"About what?" Because over the course of so many years, many things had been said, any number of which—some of which he hoped, some of which he dreaded—could be a lie. But if this unknown face staring back at him was meant to be a clue, surely that would narrow the scope some. But try as he might, the Ravenclaw couldn't figure it out. Was this Sydney Lamont's real face, which she'd hidden all along? Or had he met this face before?

Of all the what-ifs tying his stomach into knots, the reality that came to be had never even crossed his mind. Her words caught him off-guard, knocking his jaw ajar.

"What?" He blurted, incapable of saying nothing yet not knowing what to say. "Of course I'd still be your friend but—what? Why?" He gaped at her a moment longer, trying and, again, failing, to wrap his head around what was happening. It was all so confusing that his arms dropped to his sides, forgetting he was supposed to be comforting her, still. "What's wrong with your face? I—I like your face."

He knew Sydney was a metamorphmagus, that she could shape and reshape herself at will. That the face he saw had the potential to become as fluctuating and ever changing as the clouds in the sky. He knew all that, and he thought it was awesome. Even so, she'd always been, and always would be, Sydney Lamont, the one and only. And for all the endless possibilities she and her super cool super power presented, he wouldn't change her for the world.

[Sydney Lamont]

For being so unsettled, her own world one splinter away from falling apart, Sydney laughed.

It was a broken laugh, one she had to once again swipe across her eyes to clear the pooling moisture. She dropped her forehead against his collar, arms wrapping around his waist. Her fingers found each other, wedging, as her breath rose and fell in rhythm with his.

She desperately wanted to believe him, because he'd always stuck to that without altering his stance on how he viewed her. The way she wished she could if she didn't know better. If she didn't see who she could be whenever she saw her mother or sister. If she couldn't become whoever she wanted, look however she wanted.

The double-edged sword, the give and take of being both gifted and cursed with knowing that her face was as fluid as the tides.

It wasn't very long ago that she didn't even know she could. Even less that she had believed she had to for any other reason than pushing towards the boundaries of what she was capable of. When she'd spent basically an entire term masquerading as other people, learning how to adjust her voice to match theirs, seeing who she could fool into believing it and surprising herself at just how easy it'd been, her only motivation was the same that kept her racing her broom for the good of her Quidditch team. It was a game, one she was good at, and one that she could find pride in with each successful attempt.

When had her world view gotten so clouded? When had she started to notice how no one seemed to look at her the same way she viewed them? Or was it possible, she fleetingly hoped, that she was wrong?

Her grip tightened, pulling him closer and pressing herself fully against him.

"I don't think anyone else does," she answered honestly. Then, with another great sigh, she added, "But it makes me happy that you do." For the first time since she'd begun to doubt herself, knowing that felt like it was enough.

When she lifted her head once more, the face that was looking back at him was her own. Uneven brown hair, almond brown eyes, and a dumbfounded smile sandwiched between cherubic cheeks.